


Shelter

by Humbae



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Care, First Aid, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Spoilers, bookverse, but beware if you want to remain fully ignorant of Blood of Elves, injuries, nothing major and the events are greatly exaggerated anyway, nothing too graphic, potentially of the questionable kind, they try their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23913160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humbae/pseuds/Humbae
Summary: A missing scene from The Blood of Elves that never actually happened (but could've). Jaskier takes care of Geralt.(Geralt's injuries are greatly exaggerated for better whump because that's how I roll.)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 123





	Shelter

Jaskier entered his apartment in Oxenfurt and immediately smelled that something wasn’t right. He wrinkled his nose and paused at the door, taking his time removing his shoes and long overcoat while observing the area. Nothing appeared out of place, but a stink reminiscent of the waste treatment plant lingered in the air. He dropped his satchel, making sure the sound would carry all the way to his bedroom, and quickly snuck behind the open doorway leading to his combined kitchen and sitting room. He plucked the hidden knife from his belt and waited. Nothing stirred in the apartment.

“Is this how you always enter your home? You’re more paranoid than a rich dwarf.”

“Geralt. Why have you broken into my apartment?”

“I didn’t. Your window was unlatched.”

Jaskier stepped inside, a clever retort on his lips. It withered when he saw his friend.

“Well that explains the smell,” he said. Geralt was wet and covered in what Jaskier sincerely hoped was only mud and seaweed. He was leaning his back against the wall by the window, sat on Jaskier’s luxuriously thick new rug that was supposed to be in his bedroom, to be the first thing he’d set his feet upon in the morning. Vivid red had soaked into the long pale green fibres.

“And you’ve ruined my new rug. Please tell me that isn’t blood,” he said, knowing full well it was.

“Had some trouble on the barge,” Geralt said. Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Didn’t I say there would be?”

“It went according to plan.”

“Well your plan sucked to begin with. And now it’s defiling my beautiful home. How badly are you hurt?”

“Not bad. But need to lay low for a while.”

“How long a while? Who will come looking for you? Do I want them knocking on my door?”

“Won’t stay here. Was hoping you’d know a place.”

“That answers none of my questions, but whatever. I can sort something out, but it’ll be tomorrow. In the meantime, I’d rather you didn’t expire on my rug, so let’s see what we’re dealing with here.” Jaskier knelt down next to Geralt, waiting for him to reveal what his cloak -- draped across his legs and lap -- was hiding. He hoped it wouldn’t be too gruesome, he’d just had a lovely dinner with some fellow professors, and he’d hate to part with it.

Geralt pulled the cloak aside. The first thing Jaskier noticed was that he was only wearing one boot. The bare leg was stained with blood, all the way from toes to above the knee, where the tattered remains of his pants ended. He didn’t want to look more closely at the mess in between, but knew that someone had to, and since Geralt was inclined to just pop a healing potion and sleep it off, the task fell onto him.

“Anywhere else?” Jaskier asked, trying to delay the inevitable. Geralt replied by opening his jerkin and pulling it aside. A narrow gash marred his side, running along the hip and ending just above his torn belt. It didn’t look deep but it had bled a lot, judging by how stained the surrounding area was.

Jaskier inhaled his lungs full and released the breath slowly. He loved his friend dearly, but he could live without the absolute mess his presence often heralded. Never was it a simple cut that was quick and easy to bandage, oh no, he came with his side slashed open and with a leg that resembled more a sausage than a supporting appendage.

“I suppose you want that sewn?”

“If it’s not too much bother.”

“It is, but let it not be said that I’m not a gracious host. I have no idea what to do about your leg though, is it broken?”

“Maybe.”

“So it is. Just great. How did you even get here?”

Geralt took a breath to answer, but Jaskier waved him silent. He didn’t want to know the details. The pain of the ordeal was written clearly enough on Geralt’s haggard features. Stubbornness and disregard for his own well-being, that was how Geralt made his way through the world.

“Take your clothes off, I’ll make us some tea. I expect we’re facing a long night.”

“Sorry,” Geralt said with a grimace. He was unbuckling his remaining boot, clearly in pain but refusing to ask for help. Jaskier left him to it and went to the stove. With any luck, Geralt would wear himself down enough to pass out during the stitching. He hoped.

Jaskier set some water to boil and went to retrieve his medical supplies. Most of them were gifted by Shani, pilfered from the academical stores. Initially he’d just had some bandages and a bottle of vodka, but since similar visits from Geralt had become more frequent as Jaskier had settled down, his small basket had been replaced by a large wooden crate. He pulled it out and dragged it to the sitting room. Geralt had managed to remove everything but his trousers.

“I’ll start with the side since it’s easier,” Jaskier said. He took out his wound sewing kit and washed his hands and the needle with some previously boiled leftover tea water. Shani had been adamant that he always clean the wound and surrounding area as well, despite the patient’s protests. Geralt winced and grumbled as Jaskier dabbed at his side, but bore the treatment surprisingly well. He must be even more tired than Jaskier had assessed.

“Okay, preparations complete, let’s get down and dirty,” Jaskier said with a grin on his face and a queasy feeling in his stomach. He hated this part, even though he knew it was necessary, but to see the pain he would directly cause bothered him. Geralt controlled his reactions well, but he couldn’t suppress every wince or hide the tightness around his eyes.

“Quick will do, it’s not deep,” Geralt said. Jaskier retrieved two candles and placed them on either side of the wound for better illumination. He leaned closer and tested the edges. Geralt hissed, mostly as a complaint.

“Oh shush, you know I won’t take your word for it. Remember the alleged scratch that I left alone because you insisted, and the bone that popped out of it? In this case though, I agree, it doesn’t look too bad.”

Jaskier fell silent and picked up the needle. He held the skin near the start of the wound with fingers that were miraculously not shaking. He tried to imagine he was sewing a delicate leather shirt, but the warmth beneath his hand made fooling himself impossible. It was living flesh that he was poking with the needle, with real blood staining the thread. He worked as quickly as he could, leaving relatively large spaces between the stitches. All he needed to accomplish was to hold the edges of the wound together to allow Geralt’s enhanced healing to knit them together. He’d probably be removing the stitches in a day or two anyway, so no need to put too much effort into it. By the time he finished, Geralt was breathing hard and leaning his head against the wall, eyes shut tightly.

“I’d suggest we take a break and have some tea, but your leg’s bleeding.”

“Is it?”

Jaskier hated how weak Geralt’s voice sounded. As if he’d just gone through a harrowing ordeal. Which he had.

“Yeah. What do you want me to do with it?” he asked.

“Gotta take a look,” Geralt said, but made no move.

“Far be it from me to rush you, but remember that bleeding part,” Jaskier said. If he were to lift the rug, he’d probably see blood soaked to the floorboards. He’d worry about cleaning it another day.

Geralt opened his eyes and bent over. Jaskier averted his gaze as he started fiddling with the injury, testing the bones and poking the open wounds. He looked at the ceiling, tracing the cobwebs in the corners while Geralt grunted and huffed. By the sound of it, he was doing more than just examining, but Jaskier could live without the visual.

“Shall we just cut it off?” Jaskier asked, attempting to lighten the mood. The delay before Geralt answered did not reassure him.

“Think it’s okay now. Got anything to work as a splint?”

Jaskier did not. He looked around his apartment, about to suggest that they use Geralt’s swords for it, when his eyes fell on a broom in the corner. Inspired, he grabbed it and snapped it in half over his knee, trying not to wail at the pain. At least it was confirmed to be sturdy.

“Here,” Jaskier said and offered the halves. Geralt hesitated, eyes flicking to his leg and to Jaskier.

“Actually, let me,” Jaskier said and knelt down. He picked up the last of the water and carefully started wiping the skin where visible, trying not to press too hard. Geralt still winced at times whenever he hit a particularly bad spot, especially when he cleaned the open wounds. Jaskier tried to numb himself to the fact that his touch was causing his friend pain, reminding himself that despite his strong constitution, Geralt was still susceptible to infection and had to have his wounds cleaned, just like everyone. The small amount of relief the thought brought was obliterated when Jaskier felt him start shivering under his hands.

“Need a moment?” he asked.

“Get on with it,” Geralt forced out. He was tense all over, physically braced against the pain. Jaskier wrapped his leg in a thick layer of bandages and fastened the splints on either side. It wasn’t pretty, but hopefully it would keep his leg immobile while he healed.

They were both drenched in sweat by the time Jaskier tied the final knot. He wanted to wrap himself in a blanket and crawl under the bed to hide from the world. Instead, he stood up and went to retrieve the tea from the kitchen.

“If you behave, I might give you something stronger later,” he said as he handed Geralt a mug. Geralt sniffed the tea and wrinkled his nose.

“Elven or human?”

“This is elven, your favourite vintage of _damned twigs_ , as you always so eloquently put it. Are you hungry?”

Geralt shook his head. Jaskier raised his eyebrows. Usually his friend was insatiable and always on the lookout for something to munch on.

“Pardon the ambiguous phrasing, what I meant to ask was when did you last eat?”

“Not half a day ago,” Geralt said.

“And what did this feast consist of?”

“Two bites of fish.”

“Two… bites?”

“We were sharing a small one over vodka.”

“I don’t even want to know. I think I have some oats in the cupboard, I’ll make you porridge.”

“You don’t have to, I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll make you some anyway. Gracious host, remember. Also, you need sustenance to recover from the kind of damage you’ve obtained. I’d ask how it happened, but I really don’t want to know. Let’s talk about something pleasant instead.”

“Like what?” Geralt asked. He was leaning bonelessly against the wall, barely staying upright. He’d lost his headband somewhere along the way, and his now dry hair was sticking up wildly.

“Like how my classes have been consistently popular. I’ve never had a student fall asleep. The other professors complain about it all the time, but I have yet to catch even one -- oh.”

Jaskier fell silent. He’d turned from stirring the porridge, only to find that his audience had drifted off. He wasn’t surprised, Geralt had looked utterly knackered even before they started on his wounds. Pain took a lot out of one. Jaskier was glad to have no personal experience, but he’d spent enough time with Geralt to have observed the phenomenon on numerous occasions. He left the porridge to simmer and visited his bedroom. He grabbed a pillow and a blanket off the bed, lamenting the empty space on the floor where his new rug should’ve been, and returned to the living room. Geralt hadn’t moved an inch, still slouched against the wall, neck at an awkward angle on his shoulder. Jaskier placed the pillow on the rug next to him and gently manoeuvred Geralt to lie down. He woke up, as expected, but Jaskier shushed him back to sleep while covering him with the thick woolen blanket. Geralt snuggled under it, made himself comfortable with a couple of adjustments of position, and dropped right off again.

Jaskier returned to stir the porridge and check its consistency. Not quite there yet. He leaned against the kitchen table and looked at his friend. He knew Geralt was worried about Ciri, even when she was hidden in a secure location. The stress was showing in the pinched look around his eyes. Considering how formidable Geralt’s endurance and resistance to injury were, it was unnerving that he could so easily see the weariness on him. Perhaps this interlude in the city would be good for him. Jaskier had a friend who owed him a favour and conveniently had a house with an uninhabited attic. He could hide Geralt there for a few days, forcing him to rest while laying low. With any sort of luck, the current threat would pass and he could return to chasing information with fresh vigour.

“Wish I could shelter you here,” Jaskier whispered and shook his head slowly. Once he had healed from his wounds and recovered his strength, Geralt would be like a caged wolf, too restless to remain still. Worse still, this wolf had a cub that was threatened. Jaskier knew without any shadow of doubt that if Ciri was in acute danger, Geralt would rush to defend her, even if he had to drag himself there on his hands and knees. All Jaskier could do was support him and hope that one day his friend could stop giving everything he was for the protection of others. In the meanwhile, he would provide porridge and bandages and -- if not a shoulder to cry on -- then at least someone to drown one’s sorrows with.

Jaskier smiled and sat down next to Geralt. He pulled the blanket a little bit higher on his shoulder, pleased to hear a soft hum of approval. What he could offer were small things, but sometimes that was more than enough.


End file.
